


Of Silence and the Buzzing

by optionalposter



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: But there will also be fluff, Gen, It's absolutely tooth-rotting in chapters 2 and 3, Just a warning I'm still learning how to do the whole dialogue thing, M/M, My boys are in like 10th grade, Pre-Squip, Remember I mentioned the fluff?, there will be angst, this is gonna be a wild ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-11-09 20:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11112153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optionalposter/pseuds/optionalposter
Summary: Jeremy's family has never been normal, or the definition of 'cool.' But how much can one teenager do to change their family?Michael just wants to hang with his buddy. He might not be able to fix Jeremy's problems, but he can make his best friend smile.





	1. It's Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! So. This is my first fic in almost a year. And, of course, my first entry into the Be More Chill fandom. 
> 
> I've got a lot of love to give to these kids and I really want to try and do their backstory some justice.

The house was silent. Of course, the quiet thrum of the air conditioner and subtle clicking of the cuckoo clock in the living room made sure the house wasn’t completely quiet. But this – this was different. Jeremy was aware of the noises in the house, but he was certain he would be able to hear a pin drop in the kitchen downstairs.

 

It always felt like this after his parents fought. The tension was so palpable, it drowned out all noise. Jeremy was hyperaware of the silent stairs – his dad wasn’t on his way up to chat. If his mother left in a fit of rage, he would know when the front door was open, whether she had jammed the keys into the lock, and the moment her car had sped down the street. None of that had happened, yet.

 

He didn’t have excellent hearing, but it seemed like all of the important signs of life were amplified following a dramatic fight over nothing between his parents.

 

It happened a lot these days. His family had never been perfect, but who was ever perfect anyways? He had never known his parents to be particularly loving, but it wasn’t until recently that things seemed to go downhill.

 

Or maybe things had always been rough and his perception of the trouble around him changed with his cracking voice and body odor as he hit puberty.

 

Jeremy absolutely hated it. He wanted to just drown out the world by watching dumb YouTube videos or masturbating or… just _anything_ , really. But playing something out loud would seem _wrong_ somehow. He couldn’t bring himself to break the silence of his house. But if he put on his headphones, Jeremy wouldn’t know if this would be the time when his mom would finally beat down his door and do something about her pent-up frustration.

 

Every muscle in Jeremy’s body was pulled taut, ready to jump into action or cower in a corner at any moment.

 

The fights had never reached Jeremy; his parents never yelled or hit him. But that just seemed to make him more anxious that this would be the day that it changed. Something has to give, eventually, right? And what were his parents even fighting about? Why did he have to deal with this? He knew he was geeky and not cool, did they see him as a failure or maybe he wasn’t enou–

 

“It’s-a me! Mario!” chimed from his phone. Jeremy about jumped out of his skin.

Jeremy’s heart was racing. Pounding so viscerally in his chest, it felt like ice was running through his body with every beat. Whether that was from his thoughts or the sudden intrusion, he couldn’t tell.

 

He scrambled for the device that dared ruin the silence that invaded his room and turned the ringer down before opening it. As he fought his shaking fingers to unlock the phone, he felt it vibrate a few more times.

 

_Player 1 B^) : Hey man guess who just passed out for 14 hours?_

_Player 1 B^) : This guy._

_Player 1 B^) : Now that I’m back in the land of the living, wanna help me get started on this new game? Two-player only._

Leaving the house! The thought had crossed his mind, but something had kept him from acting on the impulse. But now that Michael’s texts had shaken him back to reality, that sounded like the most perfect idea to ever be thought up.

 

_❤ JerBear : it sounds like youre livin the dream, pal. literally_

_❤ JerBear : i’ll be thre in ten. whats the gmae this time?_

_Player 1 B^) : Apocalypse of the Damned! Just managed to get my hands on a copy._

_❤ JerBear: isn’t that from like, the 90s?_

_❤ JerBear: i thought u said it was new_

_Player 1 B^) : Jeremy heere how long have you known me? 11 years?_

_Player 1 B^) : I’m hurt you don’t know me by now_

_❤ JerBear: dude im kidding. super psyched to play. lemme just grav my stuff and ill be there_

He found himself almost smiling at the text exchange. Michael was always the guy that Jeremy could depend on. It seemed Michael would always be there to rescue him from himself.

 

Quietly, he tucked his feet into an old pair of Converse and grabbed his keys. Jeremy crept over to the bedroom door, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

_If I go downstairs, I might run into one of them._ Jeremy was still more than aware of the silence in the house. If the only thing keeping his parents from confronting him about their side of the argument was his absence from the other rooms in the house, he could be bombarded as soon as he opened his door.

 

A heavy weight settled in Jeremy’s gut. He couldn’t stay… this silence would drive him insane. He couldn’t leave through the front door… but what if he climbed out of his window? There was a tree just outside that he could probably climb down to leave.

 

Jeremy didn’t usually try to sneak out of the house. His dad was pretty fond of Michael, and that’s usually who Jeremy wanted to go hang out with at all times. But, desperate times call for desperate measures.

 

He’d definitely take the warm feeling of contentment and the too pure laughing fits that he associated with Michael over this draining silence any day.

 

With that, Jeremy unlatched his window and slid it open. It was just big enough for him to slide through feet-first and duck onto the tree just outside. He made sure to slide the window back into place before he turned back…

 

And immediately looked down.

 

Whoa. Two stories really is far up, huh? His grip on the branch tightens, but he can clearly see a pretty easy path down that would mostly involve scooting and not a lot of the coordination he doesn’t have.

 

As Jeremy slowly creeps down the thickest branches of the tree, the deafening silence is forgotten. All of his concentration goes towards clinging to the rough bark between his arms and legs. He’s almost all the way down when he misses his footing, and he comes tumbling out of the tree.

 

He tries to desperately hang on with his arms in reflex, but that just earns Jeremy a painful cut to his arm on the way down. He yelps in shock – from the sudden sharp pain in his arm, or the dull thud he felt as his back hit the grass, he’s not sure – and tries to sit up.

 

_Well, that’s one way of getting out of the house._ Finally outside, it felt like Jeremy could breathe again. He may have gotten just a bit winded as he practically fell out of his house, but the air outside was less… hard to breathe?

 

Jeremy’s mind really was scrambled. He felt like a tight coil of emotions and anxiety. But Michael’s place was just a neighborhood over, so he could finally let this day wash away behind him. He just had to survive long enough to see his best friend.


	2. Giggling

The walk to Michael’s had been thankfully short. Jeremy’s present state had morphed the empty streets and quiet houses into something eerie. He knew the barrenness was nothing out of the ordinary, but, well… he had a lot on his mind. To be fair. It almost felt like some dramatic reveal of a ghostly murderer would happen any moment.

 

So if it looked like his vision was blurring, just a bit, he blamed it on the fog that accompanies all horror movie sets.  

 

He sees Michael’s front door and feels like some dumb cheerleader character who finds a working car that has the promise of getting her away from whatever masked menace the movie is about. He fights to keep his cool.

 

Should his hands be in his pockets? They feel weird and wet (probably from the fog his mind has conjured up and nothing else) and stiff as they just dangle uselessly. He settles for putting one hand casually in his pocket while the other wipes at his face. That fog was really misty.

 

As Jeremy strolls into the house, looking as cool and unaffected as he can muster, he calls out, “honey, I’m home!” He had tried for casual, but his voice ended up cracking halfway through. He knows Michael’s parents aren’t home to hear the joke. They tended to vacate the house on the weekends, a requirement of their busy jobs.  

 

Jeremy migrates to the kitchen where he can hear the clattering of plastic cups and dishes. He’s rewarded with Michael responding, “I hope you’re hungry,” in his most sarcastic impression of a housewife he’s capable of.

Jeremy almost smiles as Michael looks up from the pizza boxes he must have just ordered. He almost smiles, but Michael’s expression of shock makes him jump.

 

 “Dude, what the hell? You’ve got a sick gash down your arm! Doesn’t that hurt?” Michael stalked forward, and Jeremy can’t help but take a step back, raising the arm in question.

 

“Wha- ah, oh… uh, yeah?” Jeremy looked down to his limb, which was bleeding. So that’s what the wet feeling was. It was the first time he had actually looked at it after he had fallen. Man, how did he not notice it before?

 

Michael finally gets close enough to grab Jeremy’s arm to give it a once over. “I might have some band-aids, but I don’t think anything that’s big enough for this thing.”

 

Before Jeremy could mutter a response, his best friend was walking into another room. He felt off-balance, like his mind was running a marathon that would be a normal walk for anyone else. Trying to focus on something other than what was apparently only a mental fog, he looked down at his arm.

 

The inside of his forearm was smeared with sticky red blood. Underneath it all, he could see little bits of dirt and debris. And there’s a shallow cut, about two or three inches long, running down his arm. It was still trickling blood.

 

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Jeremy figures he can at least help by running the offending arm under the tap as he waits for Michael. Cleaning it is probably the best idea his brain can muster at the moment.

 

He can hear Michael rustling around somewhere else in the house, and the faucet running, but Jeremy just feels stupid. The house is quiet and it’s _dumb._ It’s really, really, _dumb_ but he can’t help but want to curl in on himself.

 

He feels so awkward standing in his best friend’s kitchen, and he’s freaking out. He _knows_ he’s freaking out but that’s not like it’ll stop the warm tears from finally falling down his face or the way he hunches over the kitchen sink. Why is he even crying?

 

Is it so bad if he feels pitiful for himself for once? Michael’s his best friend, it’s not like he’ll judge him for it. So he just stands there, dripping into the sink, until Michael gets back.

 

“Hey, you still there, Jere? Snap out of it.” Michael’s standing next to him and Jeremy just jerks up, looking his friend in the face. They stand there, for a moment, mesmerized. This isn’t the first time either boy has cried in front of the other, but it’s never fun to see your best friend in such a state.

 

“Let’s just… uh… let’s just get you cleaned up, alright? This is gonna sting a bit.” Michael had taken out a disinfectant wipe to clean off the cut. Jeremy knows the question that Michael is gearing up to ask, so he answers it without any preamble. They know too much about each other to be anything other than honest.

 

“It’s just the same-old, y’know? Parents are… uh, they are not happy right now. Just kind of... kind of needed to be somewhere else, is all.” The words feel heavy, but at the same time a weight lifts from his chest.

 

Michael fits him with a look of pure disbelief and outrage, an accusation clear in his eyes. “They didn’t! They didn’t-”

 

He is stunned but cuts Michael off. “No non ono! They didn’t like… like cut me or anything! I just… uh, climbed my tree down and was a klutz. You know me, I’m just, uh, pretty terrible with that stuff.” Jeremy gave a watery almost-chuckle at that.

 

“You’re not terrible! And why’d you sneak out?! Did they ground you from leaving the house?” Michael’s shoulders are still hunched, his head down, as he goes to throw away the disinfectant.

 

“It’s nothing like that, I swear! I just. I just didn’t want to cause a commotion, you know? I don’t know! Past Jeremy was dumb and now I’m gonna have this dumb cut on my arm for like, ever.”

 

Michael seems to take the hint. Really, if Jeremy insists it’s fine, it is. It’s not like he can somehow make two adults do anything anyways. So instead, he works on fixing what he can. He aims to make his best bud laugh a genuine laugh. “Chicks dig battle scars, bro.”

 

“What kind of badass gets a cut on his arm, though?”

 

“Only the manliest of men who take down trees with their bare fists and punch little old ladies.”

 

“I think punching grandmas might be the opposite of cool…” Jeremy is just starting to crack a smile.

 

Michael levels him with the most mischievous eyebrow waggle he can muster. “Well, what if they were zombie grandmas?”

 

Jeremy is genuinely smiling. There’s a pleasant buzz of… _something_ settling in his gut. Relief? Contentment? Whatever it is, Michael always seems to knock him out of his head and into a much happier place. He laughs and continues, “Well let’s see if we can beat Level 1 of this new game of yours first. When d’you think the old grandmas get infected?”

 

They both turn back to Jeremy’s arm. A few drops of blood have formed, so it would probably be best to actually cover it up before anything else.

 

“So, I only have this pack of character band-aids left.” Michael holds up a familiar box – Jeremy remembers when they had celebrated some of their newfound freedom by driving to Target and picking up silly stuff. They had mainly chosen the box of band-aids because, “who can be in pain when Batman is protecting them, Jere?” It was an assorted box of brightly colored characters, with no real theme.

 

Smiling, Jeremy opens the box to find only three left. Two of them are Minions-themed and the very last one has a tiny Pac-Man on it.

 

“Who even thought Minions were a good idea? Seriously,” Jeremy all but blurts out, scrunching up his face in disgust as Michael pulls the offending band-aids out of the box.

 

“Well, I mean I would ask you which one you want… but I think you might need all of these. We’ll put the Pac-Man one on top and maybe you won’t be able to see the banana-colored hellspawn?” Michael already began to pull the band-aids from their wrappers.

 

A flutter of wrappers tossed carelessly away and some endless teasing from Michael later, Jeremy’s arm is absolutely covered in adhesives. It’ll be a bitch to pull these babies from his arm later. But he finally feels a bit more comfortable.

 

As he looks up, he sees Michael grab a couple of plates, some drinks, and the now lukewarm pizzas. A feast in the basement to have some fun. It sounds like the best plan ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was an absolute nightmare for me to write. I think you can definitely see how much of a novice I am at this, but I'm trying! 
> 
> Next chapter: a lot a lot a lot of Michael and Jeremy fluff. No angst. Just two guys having fun. 
> 
> That one is already written entirely, so it should be up later today.


	3. A Pleasant Thrum

Michael and Jeremy are both very physically active game players. Truly, the little dances and jumps they do in the heat of a virtual battle are worthy of taking to a stage. After all, it’s hard enough controlling the characters on screen, much less their own bodies too.

 

That’s how they think Jeremy ended up across Michael’s lap. He’s practically sitting next to the boy on the beanbag, but Jeremy’s legs are tangled with Michael’s, their feet dangling off the beanbag.

 

Michael was always a cute kid, but as he grew up, his body filled out. He was a little chubby, but it more made him look sturdy, like a permanent and cool fixture of the world. Michael was always easy and casual, and the teen he was becoming looked like he could give a hug capable of tuning the entire world out. Jeremy envied how confident Michael was in his body.

 

As for Jeremy, he just sprouted like a beanstalk. He was entirely too tall and too skinny. Lanky in all the wrong places. Which just made it much harder for him to walk around school without constantly tripping or just feeling generally awkward. He could never figure out where to keep his arms or how to position his legs.

 

Either way, the boys piling on top of each other wasn’t new. But that wouldn’t stop Michael from pretending to be wounded.

 

“First you kill us in the game, now you try to bury me under your bony butt?” With that remark, Michael hooked his arms under Jeremy in an attempt to lift him.

 

Giggling, Jeremy shot back, “Excuse you, I tried to save us but you wouldn’t take out the big guy! Mr. Legs! Always gotta watch for the legs, bro!” It was hard enough to keep track of what was happening on screen, so they often came up with their own nicknames for the zombies out for their lives. And honestly, Jeremy gave a valiant effort in this round.

 

“Yeah, well you should watch your own legs!” Michael kicked out; one last attempt to free himself.

 

“Stop squirming, I’m trying to get comfortable on my throne here.”

 

“Hey, you haven’t gotten to the zombie grandmas yet, cool guy.” Michael let out a breathy laugh. When Jeremy just got more comfortable, he continued, “Whatever will I do? I’m doomed to die here, thirsty and trapped under my best friend!” The boy leaned back, pressing a hand to his forehead to feign his helpless state.

 

Jeremy looked down at his pitiful friend, and then glanced to the abandoned feast that was within arms’ reach. “If I pass over your Mountain Dew, will you quit slapping at me?”

 

“Sure dude.” With that, Jeremy passed over the drink, and Michael went from squirming to absolutely limp. For a while, they just lay like that.

 

Now, there was no silence. The TV was still blaring the tinny notes of the Apocalypse of the Damned ‘Game Over’ music. Michael was still under Jeremy, audibly trying to control his breath after laughing so much. Truth be told, the familiar basement seemed to thrum with such a wonderful feeling, Jeremy could only label it as ‘home.’

 

He was jerked from his thoughts as he felt Michael wrap his arms around him. “Chill out, man. Just grabbing my controller. You up for the next round? I bet I can score more headshots than you!”

 

Jeremy just sat there for a moment. He must have this dumb dopey grin on his face as he looked down at his best friend – no, his favorite person. In 11 years, the title of best friend just doesn’t seem to fit how much the boy means to him. Michael, for a moment, doesn’t notice as he fiddles with the menu options. Before he can get caught staring, Jeremy blindly pats at the ground until his fingers find the warm controller, gearing up for another match.

 

They half-heartedly try to get to Level 2 of Apocalypse of the Damned. Each futile attempt, however, just lands them in giggle fits. Jeremy is much too comfortable and is still perfecting his controls, and Michael intermittently gives weak protests that Jeremy’s stick arms keeping blocking his view.

 

After too many death screens to count, Michael slides his controller across the floor, towards the TV. Jeremy, just as worn out from the frustration of another failed zombie attack, follows suit. They are still cuddled together on the one beanbag, but it feels _right._

 

And besides, Michael hasn’t actually told him to get off yet. He’ll take the semantic win where he can get it.

 

As he accepts the physical comfort, the relaxing tones of Bob Marley begin to fill the room. If he looks up, Jeremy knows he’ll see Michael fiddling with his new playlist of music. All in all, the relaxing vibe just makes them sink into the chair further.

 

 “I was just watching this show the other day on the weather channel. Did you know that planes are controlled entirely by hydraulics? Take some fluid out of the system and poof! No more turning the plane. That’s wild, right? There was even a part where they said a chamber as small as a pencil being out of place could screw up the entire system...” Michael was always a fan of documentaries and weird programs about learning. Honestly, Jeremy didn’t really understand the boy’s fascination with it all, but Michael’s excited voice practically made him melt.

 

Michael always loved things whole-heartedly. He would sway and dance along to the music in his headphones, and shoot off rapid-fire about anything from the mating habits of giraffes to the grizzly final moments of a Boeing 747. For a time, he attended hack-a-thons with the biggest grin on his face and a mischievous glint in his eye. His enthusiasm was infectious. Jeremy loved that.

 

This position that Jeremy found himself in – embraced by his best friend, the muted tones of Bob Marley and useless plane knowledge washing over him – it all sent him into a state of pure bliss. He was engulfed in his best friend, the most important person in the world, and the pleasant buzz from earlier seemed to have spread. No longer in his gut, it felt like the whole room was happily vibrating. He didn’t question it.

 

Michael hugged onto Jeremy just a bit tighter as he talked, a red hoodie and an overwhelming sense of calm, of home, of love all hushed Jeremy into a blissful sleep. He was too far out of it to consider those last thoughts. They were just the facts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the cutest fluff I've ever put to writing. 
> 
> I like the idea that Jeremy genuinely does love Michael. He just doesn't realize what those feelings are. In the meantime, he'll spend whatever time he can with his Player 1. 
> 
> This chapter was the calm before the storm. Hold onto your butts.


	4. Chaos

They both jerk awake to pounding on the front door of the house. Michael practically throws Jeremy to the ground as he sits upright in the beanbag.

 

“What the hell is that?!”

 

“I don’t know?! What time is it?”

 

The basement, woefully, doesn’t have any indication for how long they’ve been down there. Michael pats around trying to find the closest phone. He grabs one (Jeremy’s, going by the thicker size of the casing) and flicks it on, noticing the time: 11:44pm. They were only out for a few hours. And then Michael notices that Jeremy has… a _lot_ of missed calls. And texts. From his parents.

 

“Who could possibly be at the door? How long have we been down here?”

 

“Jeremy, you might want to see this.”

 

Michael tosses Jeremy his phone and Jeremy blanches. He looks absolutely stricken as he comes to the realization: he hadn’t left a note. He had been so single-minded in trying to get out of the house quietly that his parents didn’t know where he was.

 

He had silenced his phone earlier when Michael had initially texted him.

 

That was about eight hours ago.

 

Now he had eight missed calls from his mother.

 

But if she had been calling so much, he would have at least heard his phone buzz… oh.

 

Jeremy snapped out of his stupor and bolted up the stairs, where Michael was already at the door trying to calm Mrs. Heere down.

 

“Jeremy’s here with me! It’s fine! He came here earlier and everything is alright, Mrs. Heere. He must have forgotten to tell you he went out but he’ll be up in a minute!”

 

Jeremy finally reached the front door, pulling it open frantically, still running on the adrenaline that forced him to go and quell the source of the hysteria. It beat through his veins like a drumroll he could never keep up with. And just as it started, the pounding of his heart stopped as he looked up. What he found: his mother, eyes stone-cold.

 

If looks could kill, all of the zombies in Apocalypse of the Damned would have fallen to the glare that his mother was levelling him with.

 

“Jeremy Heere you are coming home this instant. I’ve looked everywhere for you.” Her voice was like steel constricting around him, and his head just couldn’t keep up. He hesitated, sending one last glance to his best friend.

 

That proved to be the fatal mistake.

 

In her haste, his mom had grabbed his arm. The bad one. Before he could do anything, she yanked on his bad arm, tearing at the bandages that covered his newly scabbed-over gash. Jeremy yelped in surprise and pain as one of the band-aids was ripped completely off with the force, which sent him falling straight onto his ass, tears prickling his eyes from shock.

 

He looked up to his mother and her eyes were like ice. The pupils were blown wide and black and an electric shock fizzled down his spine with how absolutely terrifying she looked in this moment. He scrambled to stand in complete horror.

 

Without another glance at Michael, he quickly fumbled into his mom’s car and they drove off.

 

The car ride was silent. Jeremy was too terrified to speak. His mother… he had never seen her so mad. Jeremy shrunk down in his seat further, wishing in vain that he could be anywhere, absolutely anywhere else. He knew he had fucked up by not telling his parents where he was going earlier. He had just wanted away from the suffocating silence.

 

The same silence that enveloped him now. He wanted to apologize; it felt important to. But Jeremy was not someone capable of vocalizing anything of importance. He couldn’t fathom opening his mouth, much less trying to get words out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry!!! I'm not dead! I just kinda lost the ability to do much of anything for the past like.... month. 
> 
> But I think I'm in the right headspace now to finish this story up. If all goes well I'll have the next chapter up tomorrow or the next day. 
> 
> Sorry for the hurt but it's just gonna get worse before it gets better. But it will get better.


	5. Deafening

Now here he was again. The car ride took less than 5 minutes but it felt like an eternity. He dreaded every microsecond of each minute that crawled along, as it meant another moment of the deafening silence. But it also meant one instant closer to his impending punishment as soon as they got home.

 

He wasn’t sure which was worse – the cold, dark leather interior engulfing him, or the vast openness of the living room that would leave him open and vulnerable when he got home. If he was in the car forever, maybe he’d never have to face the consequences of whatever tight, blank expression his mother wore in this moment.

 

Dim streetlights illuminated the car and danced with the features of his mom’s face as they drove. He felt so entirely present in this moment; hyperaware of every single detail. The windshield had a small crack from when a pebble had hit it a couple months ago. His mom’s fingers were wrapped around the steering wheel, only giving minute adjustments. He could see each line in the dashboard.

 

Jeremy was so entirely present in this gut-wrenching moment; terrified of that terrible look in his mother’s eyes that he couldn’t quite meet. But he also felt as if he were floating. The dark interior of the car seemed to blur into the night sky and only the contrast of those streetlights every block seemed to keep him sane and tethered to himself.

 

Jeremy tried to breathe. He couldn’t get it right. It felt too labored, too fast. Or maybe he wasn’t breathing deep enough?

 

He turned his focus on his arm, now trickling with blood from the reopened wound. Wasn’t it supposed to hurt? The minions band-aid had partially fallen off, hanging off his arm hair like a loose thread. Completely useless. He pulled the arm closer to his body. If he got smaller, maybe there would be enough air for him to breathe and not suffocate.

 

Maybe if he got smaller, he could go back to when he was a kid. Things weren’t much better then, but at least he hadn’t been aware of it.

 

The car turned off.

 

He was home.

 

His life was over.

 

His mother stepped out of the car. He hurriedly tried to open the car door.

 

“Listen, I can - I can explain…” He finally found his voice, tumbling through the words as he walked to the front door, tailing his mother. He sounded too frantic.

 

“Just go to your room, Jeremiah.” Those black eyes turned to him. He never wanted to see that look again. Turning with a tired sigh and a step through the front door, his mom continued, “I don’t have time to deal with this right now.”

 

Jeremy couldn’t quite find his feet or his voice. He was vaguely aware he was clutching his arm into himself. As if he could hug himself until someone could turn the lights on and everything would be okay again. Instead he just felt dried blood against his fingers.

 

She leveled him with that gaze again and before he could make any coherent thought he stumbled out an apology as he ducked his head and rushed up the stairs. Somehow the house seemed to have warped in his absence. Something was off, but he barely registered that thought as he tumbled into his room and locked the door.

 

He could hear her moving around downstairs. He wondered where his dad was but… did he even remember seeing his car in the driveway?

 

His mind was racing but nothing was coherent. All he understood was that he felt so wholly unsafe and wrong that he needed to do something, anything. The room felt too big.

 

There was barely any floorspace in his cluttered bedroom, but the walls felt so far away. A million demons could materialize in this room with him.

 

Taking as deep a breath as he could muster, Jeremy shoved his old desk chair under the door handle, blocking it from being able to open. If he didn’t have to worry about what could come from the rest of the house, then he could just focus on trying not to die in his own room.

 

He felt like total shit. He had gone and made a bad situation worse, because that seemed to be his talent. He just wanted to do something that made him feel less alone – take comfort in his friend and forget his awful life – and it just landed him in an even worse place. It always did.

 

He wondered if he’d ever learn to just survive on what he was given.

 

Although he supposed actually acting smart was never his strong suit, either.

 

Idly, he eyed the window that helped him get into this mess. He at least knew not to try that again. His hand thumbed the phone in his pocket. At least his mom hadn’t outright taken his stuff as punishment.

 

Jeremy pulled the device up and towards his face, looking at it. Pressing the home screen, he could see he had a dozen messages from Michael, but his mind was too fuzzy to actually see what they said. He should probably text his friend. Michael always knew what to say to cheer him up. Jeremy tried to get his fingers to swipe across the screen, but no matter how much he told himself to do it, the phone just lay limply in his hand until it finally clattered to the wood floor.

 

He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to listen to the house. He could already hear movement from downstairs, and he was far too miserable to let his mind wonder what could possibly be going on. He just wanted a break from the world, if just for a little while.

 

He struggled to form his thoughts into something he could do. Jeremy’s room felt too big. He hadn’t turned on the lights when he came in, so it was thankfully dark; but it still felt far too big for him to occupy. He was emotionally drained and on edge, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep for a while. He needed to be somewhere small and distracted.

 

Almost as if on autopilot, he could feel himself cross the room to grab his laptop, earbuds, and comforter and drag them to the closet. It wasn’t spacious by any means, but it was dark and secluded, with just a big enough gap for him to sit in.

 

Jeremy wrapped himself in the comforter and plopped down into the space, opening his laptop and pulling the closet door almost closed. With how dark the little space was, he could almost pretend he didn’t even exist.

 

As he absently logged onto his computer, his mind couldn’t help but remind him how pathetic his little display was. This wasn’t even the first time he had ended up in the closet, hiding. He knew he was fucked up and awkward – the little voices in his head reminded him of that every single day – although it didn’t often escalate to whatever this mess was.

 

Michael had made him a playlist on YouTube of a series of calming videos. They ranged from informational personalities that talked too fast for him to understand (although Michael was so smart he could easily decipher whatever Latin they babbled) to ASMR dog petting videos. He just needed something to cloak his restless mind, just a for a while.

 

Hours later, somewhere between a song about the digits of tau and a kinetic sand video, his eyes drooped and the darkness thankfully overtook him.

* * *

 

Jeremy stumbled into consciousness a few hours later. He’s jarred by the thumps and bangs coming from downstairs. The sudden noise sent his heart into overdrive and he instinctively kicked his sore legs out, slamming them into the closet door, which makes a noise that almost certainly means he broke it, but now he’s more worried about his blood pounding through his chest.

 

Honestly, he was so disoriented being in such a dark, tiny room, he couldn’t keep his limbs from jerking around. Somewhere in the back of his mind he curses that he’s had to wake up in a panic twice in less than 24 hours.

 

Eventually, Jeremy wiggled out of the constricting blanket surrounding him and maneuvered himself through the gap in the closet door and into the far too bright room. He never closed the blinds to his window, so the sun cascades mercilessly across his bare bed and his floor.

 

He could still hear movement from downstairs. It wasn’t urgent chaos, but he could tell it was more than just the footsteps of his parents going about their routine.

 

Jeremy warily eyed the door and the chair denying any possible intruders.

 

He doesn’t want to go downstairs. Then everything will be real. Whatever was happening, and whatever punishment that wasn’t given to him last night, and that look his mother would undoubtedly still have… it would all be so much more real.

 

Jeremy wished for the quiet illusion of the dark closet once more.

 

Whatever is waiting for him downstairs, he at least had a bit of time to prepare himself for. As Jeremy looked down at his shirt, he could see little red splotches from where he had clutched his arm. It hadn’t bled much, and had scabbed over again fairly quickly, but he still felt gross with his blood smeared on his clothes and fingers.

 

He couldn’t sneak to the bathroom to shower, but he could at least change his shirt. And change into a clean pair of jeans. His legs and shoulders were sore from falling asleep in such a cramped position, but he could ignore the pain in favor of pulling a comfortable shirt on.

 

Jeremy attempted to run his fingers through his hair to give it some semblance of order, but it was probably hopeless.

 

He allowed himself to take a few calming breaths and to retrieve his phone from the ground. As he unlocked it, Jeremy could see it was barely holding out at a measly 5% left. Just enough power to text Michael a quick, _hi. not dead. i’ll talk later. thanks for being a bro_.

 

Even though Jeremy hated himself for causing so much trouble last night, he couldn’t help but smile at the warm memory of getting lost in pizza and video games with Michael. He didn’t have the heart to check what all Michael had sent him.

 

With one final mental check of himself, Jeremy pulled on his cardigan (it would at least make his arms feel less out of place) and steeled himself to be ready for whatever was downstairs.

 

He carefully removed the chair from in front of the door, and ghosted down the steps into the hallway, and then to the living room.

 

Oh.

 

He had thought something was off last night, but it was too dark and he had been too preoccupied to see what. The living room was practically barren. Half of the keepsakes and trinkets and well… just general clutter was absent. In the middle of the room were two suitcases.

 

He must have stood there, silently gaping like a fish, forever.

 

It wasn’t until he could hear footsteps tromp through the front door that he snapped to attention.

 

“Mom? Uh, what? What’s going on?”

 

She looked disheveled. She was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and she looked run down. Tired. He had always hated seeing her look just so… worn out. She let out an impatient sigh.

 

“What’s it look like, Jeremiah? I’m leaving.” Her eyes looked exhausted and even a little red, but her tone was still biting.

 

“Leaving? Wha- uh, where? Where are you going?”

 

“Your father and I are done. You can stay and be as reckless as you want with him. You can’t pull that shit with me.”

 

“Wha – uh, what? Is this? Last night? I’m so sorry, mom, I just…” Jeremy’s stammering was cut short by his mother snapping her gaze to him. Those dark eyes were back again, as was the silence.

 

His mom paced the room, unzipping a suitcase to stuff a jacket from the couch in. As she crouched down, turned away from him, she lowered her head and let out another sigh.

 

“Listen, Jerry, I just need to go away. Nothing’s working, and I’m so tired.” She sounded so pained and lost and Jeremy’s heart broke for his mother. Looking at her, crouched down, and using the suitcase for support, she looked so soft and broken.

 

“B-but, why right now? Why so soon?” He wanted to say so many things, but that’s all that could come out.

 

Her guard snapped right back up and she said, irritated, “Well, I would have left sooner but I had to search all across the damn city at midnight to find my ungrateful son. We buy you a nice phone and what do you do? You run away and waste my time because you can’t even remember to send a simple text.”

 

Jeremy stopped cold in his tracks. She must not have slept all night as she packed. Her and dad were going through the worst fight they’d ever had and all he had done was run away and make them worry. But her words were like a punch to the gut. She finally stopped rummaging in her remaining bags and stood.

 

“I love you, honey. I really do.” She crossed the room and cupped his cheek so gently, lovingly. It reminded him of warm sunny days spent running around the neighborhood. For a fleeting moment, he felt loved. Her voice remained soft. “But I need to go. I have so much more ahead of me. Staying here, it’s like I’m shackled in a prison. I can’t be what your father wants, and I can’t keep spending all my time worrying where my baby boy is. You have to grow up, honey. Okay?”

 

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, but Jeremy felt hollow. Her words bounced around his chest, and he just stood there, dumb, as she grabbed a suitcase in each hand.

 

His mother turned one last look at him and said, “well, if you’re not going to help me get this shit out of here, can you at least close the door? Or are you just going to refuse to help your mother? Pathetic.”

 

He was frozen in place. Jeremy could feel his mind screaming at him, but it felt like an alien language.

 

With that, she turned and walked out of the house. The wheels on her suitcases clattered down from the tile of the entryway to the cement outside.

 

Somehow, Jeremy found his feet and stumbled along behind her to the front door. His feet would only carry him as far as the entryway. He had to say something, anything, before she left. He didn’t know if she’d ever come back.

 

“L-love you! Don’t… I mean, stay safe, mom.” Was all he could manage to call to her as she loaded the last bags into her car and slammed the trunk closed. It rung with such a sense of finality. She looked up.

 

Her last words were, “take care of your father. One of you needs to learn how to survive without me eventually.”

 

Jeremy watched as she got in her car and pulled out of the driveway. And just like that, with the quiet thrum of the engine sounding more distant as she drove out of the neighborhood, she left. The hum of the engine, her laughter, the clacking of her heels on tile after a long day at work; they were all gone.

 

All that remained of his mother were her words.

 

_Pathetic. One of you needs to learn how to survive. You have to grow up. I can’t keep worrying about you._

 

His mom just left. And it was because he had dragged her down so much she couldn’t stand to be there. And he had just stood there like an _idiot_. He was so pathetic, he just stood there and told her he loved her as she walked out of his life.

 

Is that all he does? Make people feel chained to him? Weigh them down until they can do nothing but leave their life behind to get away from him?

 

The deafening silence was back. Jeremy had nowhere to hide and the silence was back and the tears he had been holding back gathered at his eyes.

 

He was dimly aware of his dad’s car pulling into the driveway. The next thing he knew, they were sitting on the ground in the empty living room. His dad was hugging him and they were both crying and all Jeremy could mutter was an almost silent, “she’s… gone.”

 

Jeremy searched his dad’s face for answers. His dad looked… isolated. Alone. Lost. Probably every emotion that Jeremy was feeling right now.

 

He felt so damn _awful_. We he not enough? Had he been too much?

 

All he was left with was the bitter noise of the cuckoo clock ticking away the time.

 

After too many of those ticks, he found his words again.

 

“I’m sorry.” Jeremy’s dumb voice cracked on those two little words and he had no idea what he was apologizing for. For sneaking out, for years of hushed arguments. He apologized for an entire lifetime of his dad’s bad decisions, and his own inability to hold his family together. He was terrible and useless and somehow… this was all his fault. His mom had outright said so. His dad had to know he was sorry.

 

He said sorry until his throat was numb from holding off the sobs. His dad just clutched him tighter and mumbled incoherent words in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so like.... I warned you. I told you a storm was coming. And man.... did it come. 
> 
> I'm actually really nervous about posting this? So please tell me what you think!
> 
> Gimme your comments? It'll help me write up our last chapter. I promise it will be a bit more coherent and also things will get better! I'll give you all a happy ending, dammit!


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